


It's Time You Learned To Grovel

by Deiwimin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Boot Worship, Just A Little Gross, M/M, Oral Sex, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Smut, Starvation, Thramsay kinkmeme, Threats of Violence, implied gore, light pet play, violent flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25156330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiwimin/pseuds/Deiwimin
Summary: For the Thramsay 2020 Kinkmeme.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy/Reek
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22
Collections: Thramsay2020 Kinkmeme Event





	It's Time You Learned To Grovel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nanners (nanjcsy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanjcsy/gifts).



> Nanners requested: "Good old fashioned pet play or boot worship."
> 
> Why not a bit of both ;0

Blackest depth; eldest of things. And torches sputtered, and golden flames licked the darksome walls. For the nightly company in his cell, all was extant and of use. Theon embraces a smallest pleasure from their descended heat, body desperately leans toward the light, but efforts to stay still.

“No.” Theon spat with outraged fire at the ground. It landed by the tyrant’s boots. The bastard bothered not to wipe it. Instead he stared up on the cross, then tightly gripped Theon’s jaw, slowly adding overwhelming pressure. “Oh, my sweet Reek, you gorgeous little wretch, I said _**KNEEL**_.” His bellowing shook Theon to the core, and his vision pinked. He’d been gravely malnourished, beaten, and his breath weakened by the day. Encroaching Ramsay in resistance and defense was always met with either blithe or purposeful cruelty. After the treatment he was allowed at the Dreadfort, Theon now flinched at any sharp noise, and shivered at every hint of a murmur. He still had his spirit, and it’s what should matter. “Kneel lest; you were hoping you could return to your wooden palace, earlier tonight.” He forced Theon’s eyes on him. It was a moment where the appalling fury building up in the bastard environed him.

He must not forget Theon Greyjoy. He cannot give Snow all he wants. But he had given already so much.

“Comfy, is **it**?” he snarls. Only Theon never found it comfy, and a hard sob escaped his lips at the very thought. Ramsay saw through, and pried into cracks of an inevitable breakage. “You don’t wish for the cross after all, m’lord?” His taunts fell thick on Theon like crushing boulders. How would he ever so beg? But to his recent horror, Theon found himself doing more and more of it. He’s begged to be let down, for conversation, and the tiniest nourishments. He’s learnt how pleading only sounded when Ramsay wished for him to; on his tears and ill-sought nakedness.

Cringing low but never away, Theon’s finger rubbed gently at his own breeches, delaying himself. It was the one thing that absurdly protected him. “N-no. Please I don’t like the c...cross.” His voice trembled in a quality delicate to merciless derision. “...My lord.” He pulled his hand apart from safety just so Ramsay wouldn’t take note, even tearing that simple thin veil away from him. “You’ll have supper after, and I won’t whip you for the insolence. Kneel, like a good bitch.” In ephemeral haste, Theon’s mind turned into hung weight, and his knees gave out.

“That is all I asked of you.”

“What would you have me do?”

Ramsay gave him a look disbelieving. The bastard kept to unlacing himself, and the prince was engulfed by limp dread. 

“You learn manners and suck my cock tonight, and all ever else I tell you to.”

 _Never. Never!_ He wished to protest, cut him to the very marrow. Ramsay backhanded him hard, to draw a response. He was shrieking in fearful boldnesses inside. The bastard already cradled his head, tugging his hair to his crotch, and Theon’s thoughts began to falter miserably. Biting him would be much in vanity. It would only charge him another finger, or worse. He had seen what Ramsay did to other prisoners, he was an honoured part of audience one time. Unwilling. He thought back to the evening where he felt true terror. 

Creation of slits and wounds Theon never accounted for possible nor sane, performed violations so atrocious he begged to be ended before the prey. And now new imaginings of his head flooded him, so suddenly he hoped for life again, even a spare day. Ramsay made him crawl around a few circles before finding his lap again. Dumb dogs needed some So “Reek” closed his lips around the fleshed crown. It almost tasted of nothing but cruel, uncouth warmth.

Ramsay hummed and let his toy lick timidly at first. Then he did well areed him on just how to take it bobbing, to open wide, suckle and suck. Theon looked up at him, grimly bitter, too scared to do anything, eyes moistening. After a tasteful while, Ramsay had quite enough, and grunting, he began to thrust deep down his virgin throat.

Ramsay mocked him again, told him he took it worse than any maid he’s had before, but he’d seen none as desperate. He called him a good, dog, then a gods’ awful whore; wanton and careless.

Theon gurgled, and tears he held back finally spilled down streaming. Spit and shame he never knew he had still, it frothed out of his mouth. He grasped onto Ramsay’s tunic, pathetically startled. The lordling was breathing by the wetted nose and choked continuously as the bastard rammed himself inside hard and brutally. Theon was already feeling sick coming up a span and yet seemed to have suppressed it for the while.

Theon felt his hips stutter frenzied, and instead of pressing deeper still, Ramsay pulled out; grunting lustfully, holding, stroking himself so, and spilt on Theon’s face. He felt it drip hotly down his chin, to the floor. He endured his heart sink heavied, and his throat throb in hapless pain. Theon was now the dross of the mud. Worthless. 

He had no time to wail; all too sudden a fist flew at him and Theon was fully sprawled limply on the filthy floor. He looked up.

“You filthied my shoes. Look at them, Reek.” Theon hastily crawled close out of fear, shaking for his punishment. “Well? I want you to clean it. No, no cloth. You’ll lick the come you spilled and the forest hunt along with it.” 

Theon’s time stopped but he did as was told. His seed was an awful tart as he ran his tongue across, and as he sampled the dirt from the sole Ramsay went on. “The gall, Reek. Your lack of humility perplexes me so. You want supper? This is your meal for tonight, to teach you respect.” And Theon knew that the bastard was smiling, as he tormented his wishes. The tears that fell as Theon heard those words were real, he tried his best not to slobber, but in finality, he had to lap up more of the softened leather despite his efforts. For a moment he saw it to be roast beef. He knew it was only the unfounded chasm of his despair. He dragged through every spot, drying his already coarse tongue, and when Ramsay allowed him to stop he kissed each and all parts in tearful thanks.

“You sated my amusement enough for now. Next time as you choke on my fat cock, I want to feel your tongue dance. You’ll only stare at the dirt from today on, and you’ll kiss my feet each time to greet me. I will teach you how to behave, since you cannot gather it yourself!” He laughed in a chilling, obscene blur, and Theon silently cried then, curling up to soothe a devoted cut.


End file.
